Entrapment. Kylie Brant
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êtes fils d’une chienne!”
“Insulting my parentage isn’t going to solve anything. What were you looking for, anyway? Not money, since I doubt you need it. ID?” Her sharply hissed breath was its own answer. “As much as I was enjoying the search, I don’t carry ID with me. You never know when a gorgeous woman will use her clever fingers to pick your pockets.”
Juliette glared at him, and he took a moment to appreciate the storm in her eyes. So he had only himself to blame when she stomped her stiletto heel sharply into his foot.
“Dammit!” The resulting throb served as a vivid reminder of the seriousness of this encounter. He gave her a little shake. “Settle down. We’re attracting attention.”
She obeyed, but her voice when it came was a dangerous purr. “You dare to call me a pickpocket? I could go to those gallery doors and have a dozen men rush to defend my honor for that insult alone.”
“Funny how the term pickpocket offends you more than ‘thief.’ I’ll keep that in mind. But we both know that you aren’t going to summon any of your admirers from in there.”
She tipped her head back defiantly. “Do we? And why is that?”
“Because I’m about to tell you everything I’ve found out about Juliette Morrow. It isn’t much, all things considered. Given enough time, I’m sure I could discover more.” And he wished, more than was comfortable, that he had that kind of time. Wished for answers to questions better not asked. Better not considered.
She yanked at her hands, and, because he thought her temper had passed, he released her. “If you had done near the research you claim, you would have learned that le petit voleur is a man, hence the name.” Her shoulders straightened, as if daring him to disagree. “I think you’ll agree that I am very much a female.”
His mouth quirked. “I can certainly attest to the last statement, but the press’s nickname is merely a reflection of perception, isn’t it? Who would expect the most notorious thief on the continent to be a young woman?”
She gave him a pitying glance. “I am not sure what kind of women you are used to in America. In France, we understand that females are far different from males. We lack the strength, the daring necessary for the feats you accuse me of.” Her hand went to her chest, one finger absently traced the bodice where material met bare skin. It was a maneuver meant to underscore her words, to draw attention to her femininity. “In my country, we accept those differences. We…embrace them.” Her voice trailed off suggestively.
He was hard-pressed to know whether to kiss her or applaud. In the end, he did neither. “Bet those words were hard to say. But then, acting is part of your role, isn’t it?” He knew by the heat in her gaze that he’d scored a direct hit. “It doesn’t matter. We both know you don’t mean them. You’ve been thumbing your nose at the rest of the world for so long I doubt you remember where the pretense ends and you really begin.” There was a flash of expression on her face, there and gone too quickly to be identified. But he had the feeling that fleeting as it was, it was the first true response she’d shown him all evening.
“You know nothing about me.”
Raising his brows, he said, “No? How about if I just run through my information and you can see for yourself?” He leaned back a little and let the railing behind him take some of the weight off his leg. “It’s a convoluted little past you’ve concocted, and I have to hand it to you, damn hard to check out. Born at home outside Savigny…taken to live in Sweden when you were an infant…of course, before your birth could be recorded.”
She reached up, smoothed a tendril of hair back from her face. “There wasn’t time. My mother was very much in love with my father, and he wanted to take her back to his home country.”
“So much in love with her that he didn’t bother to marry her, but hey, I guess that would have left a paper trail, too, so you were wise to avoid that convention.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Are you insulting my parents now?”
“You mean the way you did mine earlier? No. Just remarking on the convenience of the past you’ve spun for yourself. By the way, having your mother be an American living abroad was sheer brilliance. Allows you to establish dual citizenship, and that must come in handy.”
“Well, I’m glad my life’s story has provided you with such entertainment.” Her words were glacial. “Perhaps you could get to the part where I need to steal for a living.”
Sam folded his arms across his chest. Not even to himself would he admit it was to keep from reaching for her again. “You mean because you’re an heiress, living off a modest trust you inherited upon your parents’ early deaths? Again, a nice touch. And it does thwart those pesky questions of how you live without visible means of support.”
“It hasn’t seemed to thwart yours.”
He shook his head. “I’m trained to look beneath the surface. To see what others have missed. Even a trail with as many twists and turns as yours can be followed, given the right incentive.”
She stooped to pick up his jacket which had dropped earlier, and draped it again around her shoulders. He had no doubt she’d checked the pockets, surreptitiously, before she’d turned her attentions to him. “And your incentive would be…”
“I want to acquire your services.”
This time she couldn’t hide her reaction to his words. He took in her frozen expression with satisfaction. “We’ll have to work out a different sort of arrangement than you’re undoubtedly used to, but I think you’ll find it to your benefit.”
It didn’t take her long to recover. “As…intriguing as that offer sounds, I’ll have to refuse. I don’t provide any services that are for sale.”
The music started up again in the ballroom, and couples on the balcony began drifting back inside. “I’m not offering to hire you, actually. More like work out a trade.”
“And here I thought you couldn’t get more offensive,” Juliette said coolly. “How unfortunate to be proven wrong.” She slipped out of the jacket and laid it over his shoulder.
He watched her turn that slender bare back on him and start away. She got exactly three steps before he said, “Threats aren’t really my style, but if you decline, the file I’ve accumulated on you could be turned over to the local authorities. I think you’d find it less inconvenient to cooperate than to be subjected to their questions.”
“Do your worst, Mr. Tremaine.” She looked back over her shoulder, her face serenely confident. “I’ve got absolutely nothing to hide.”
He still hadn’t adjusted to the time change. At least that was the reason Sam gave himself for being in the large well-equipped exercise room instead of upstairs asleep. He sank a blow into the body bag and danced away before it swayed his way again. Then, his actions a blur, he landed one blow after another, swift deadly jabs that would have rendered an opponent incapacitated.
“I hope the pounding that bag’s taking isn’t an indication of your frustration over this evening’s events.”
Sam didn’t bother to turn around at the voice. He already knew who’d be standing there, and Miles Caladesh topped the list of the people he least felt like talking to right now. “I told you I’d report in the morning.” With a studied movement he slammed his fist into the middle of the bag, sending it swaying.
“It is morning. I heard you as I came in and thought I’d get an update now.”
He wasn’t going away. Sam turned, resting a glove on top of the bag, and studied the other man. He didn’t ask how Miles had spent the evening. He didn’t need to. Too much alcohol had left his face flushed, and the fact that he’d returned to their borrowed quarters at all meant that his evening hadn’t turned out as he’d hoped. A fact which renewed Sam’s belief in the intelligence of the opposite sex.
“I